


i'm starting to feel it's right

by engmaresh



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Jealousy, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/pseuds/engmaresh
Summary: Jyn's always been a runner. And when it comes to Cassian, she basically has no kriffing idea what she's doing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opticalprism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opticalprism/gifts).



> This was supposed to be 100% crack then it turned into some weird sad crack thing. 
> 
> Title and lyrics from Shakira's _Hips Don't Lie_. Based on the prompt "Cassian's hips don't lie."

_you make a woman go mad_  
  


“What the kriff is he doing?” Jyn hisses to Bodhi, who moodily stirs the slice of muja in his cocktail.

“His job. Seriously Erso?”

“We are supposed to be collecting information!” Jyn hisses. She knocks back her drink a bit too quickly and slops some of it down her chin and onto her chestplate. “Blast it!”

“Yes, and he’s doing that.” He glances back over his shoulder to Cassian. Cassian who to Jyn’s growing frustration, is doing exactly what his job for this particular mission requires him to: flirt with the mark.

Jyn groans and waves to the bartender for another drink. “I can’t do this,” she mutters. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

Bodhi shrugs. “At least you’re acknowledging it. And you could just go back to the ship.”

“I’m here to watch his back,” she insists.

“You’re watching his butt,” remarks Bodhi. “I can assure you, an assassin is more likely to shoot his head than his ass.”

“You’re beginning to sound like K2,” Jyn hisses again, snapping her fingers impatiently at the bartender who seems to be chatting up a particularly attractive Twi’Lek at the other end of the bar.

Bodhi drains his drink, and takes a bite of the muja slice. “We’re bonding. About how insufferable you and Cassian can be.”

“I swear by the Force I will climb over this bar and get my drink myself.” But Jyn is saved from taking action by the arrival of the sour faced bartender. She almost throws her credit chip at him, and he slams down her blue drink particularly hard, slopping half of it over the sides.

“Sithspit!” she snaps as she snatches it up, and he shoots her a dirty look as he walks away.

“You know,” says Bodhi, crunching down on the rest of his muja, “you really shouldn’t antagonise the person who makes your drinks.”

Jyn knocks back the drink again and rolls her shoulders. She feels like crawling out of her skin. Which means that she feels like fighting. A good brawl would get rid of this aggression nicely.

A glance back at Cassian lets her witness the exact moment the mark slips her hands into the back pockets of his pants. They’re moving together, slowly, to the rhythm of the music.

Jyn slams down her glass and misses, smashing it on the floor instead. Bodhi jumps, and the patron on the other side of her glares. “Kriff. Bodhi–”

He lets out a long suffering sigh. “I’ll pay for it. And I’ll make sure Cassian’s butt comes to no harm.”

She spins away from the bar, only to come face to face with a young Balosar. “Hey,” he drawls, leering at her. “Wanna buy some death sticks?” He dexterously twirls one of his products between his fingers.

Jyn grabs him by the front of his scruffy shirt and pulls him close so he can see the murder in her eyes. Then she tells him in exact detail what he can do with his death sticks and where he can put them, before pushing him back into the crowd and storming off.

By the bar, Bodhi watches as the kid collapses on Jyn’s vacated seat and waves for the bartender. “The job’s getting dangerous,” Bodhi overhears him mutter to the bartender when he comes to collect his order. “My pa was right. Gotta go home maybe, rethink my life.”  


   


* * *

   


_the signs of my body_  


  
Jyn wakes up the next morning to the hiss of her cabin door opening. It’s Cassian, who strips off his jacket before the door even closes. She shifts over in the bunk until her back hits the wall, making room for him to squeeze in next to her. It’s a good thing they’re both skinny or they’d never fit in these narrow, bench-like bunks. Jyn’s slept on more comfortable floors and in more cozy trees, but Cassian refuses to have them retrofitted. The Rebellion has no credits for comfort, he insists, and an uncomfortable crew is an alert crew.

Even so, to share the bunk they have to lie on their sides, and Jyn ends up with her nose buried in the nape of his neck. Cassian smells like sweat, alcohol and the scent of another woman. She throws an arm over him, curling over his torso and pulling him closer. She breathes through her mouth and his hair tickles her chapped lips.

“Bodhi said,” Cassian begins, and Jyn interrupts him with some incoherent mumblings against his skin.

“I’m just doing–”

“I know, I know,” she says, elbowing up and pushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll get over it. It’s temporary.”

He looks up at her, a skeptical furrow forming between his brows. “I wouldn’t mind if you requested a reassignment.”

Jyn shakes her head. “No. I’ll deal. You need someone to watch your ass.”

“My ass?” The furrow smooths away and his lips begin to curl up in a smile. “Not my back or the rest of me?”

“Your ass is the most important part of you,” she teases and flops back onto the bunk. Her fingers slipping into the belt loops of his pants, she hauls him on top of her.

“I was planning on sleeping,” Cassian whines, though a hungry glimmer she knows well has appeared in his eyes.

“Fuck me first,” she demands. The moment he’s properly straddling her, Jyn bucks up against him. She can feel the growing weight of his erection against her hip. She slips her hands around his back and down the waist of his pants, under his underwear, to grab hold of his very nice ass.

Cassian hisses. “Your hands are cold.”

She smirks at him. “Then you’d better warm me up.”

He almost falls off the bunk trying to get his pants off. Jyn rescues him in time by grabbing onto his arm and a handful of ass. It leaves a mark, the indent of her nails on his smooth skin. “I’m in bed with an animal,” Cassian groans.

Jyn laughs and bares her teeth at him.

 

* * *

   


_don't really know what i'm doing_  
  


“You should join them.”

“I can’t dance.”

“But you want to dance. With him.” Chirrut’s pale eyes crinkle and his mouth twists into a sly smile. “Horizontally.”

Jyn elbows him hard enough in the side that he has to catch himself on the bench. “Is this how you treat the blind?” he gasps in mock hurt.

She snorts. “Only you. Besides, we’re already sleeping together.”

“So you actually want to dance with him. Vertically.”

Jyn groans. Across the hanger, Cassian is engaged in some kind of dance off with his fellow pilots. Bodhi is there, as are Antilles, Bey, that kid Skywalker, and some others Jyn doesn’t recognise. It’s Cassian against Antilles, who has dropped into a crouch and starting kicking out his legs, and now is dancing on his knees.

In response, Cassian starts snapping his hips right and left, arms swaying along to the motion of his body. It starts slow, then gets faster and his stance grows wider. At some point he makes a move similar to Antilles’ dropping to a crouch then snapping one leg out, the other. He leaps back to his feet and somehow manages to whip his entire body into the air before catching himself on one hand, kicking up the rest of his body into a somersault without his feet even touching the ground and finally landing squarely in his feet.

“That’s not even dancing,” moans Jyn, burying her face in her arms. Next to her, Chirrut starts to chuckle.

“You have to find the right kind of dance, my dear,” he tells her, nudging her fondly. “Take me and Baze for an instance, we like to take it easy–” at this Jyn snorts and his nudge turns into an elbow dig “–we put on some nice music and just have a nice time.”

He gets to his feet and moves into position with an invisible partner. “You want to be in touch with each other. Physically. Emotionally.” He starts taking small steps to a rhythm Jyn can’t hear in a pattern she can’t see.

“You have to be in touch with your own body first,” Chirrut continues, and does a twirl before her, sending the hems of his robes spinning out around him. “Your arms, your feet, your hips.” He does a little shimmy, giving her a wink, and behind him, Jyn catches a glimpse of Cassian’s butt as he performs a similar move in front his friends. He’s up against Shara Bey now.

“It doesn’t matter if you cannot dance, or if you’ve never tried it. For the dancer there is no outside,” continues Chirrut, balancing on one foot and sweeping his arms over his head.

“Feel them!” he urges, and Force help her, he’s picked up his staff and is using it as his imaginary dance partner. “The erotic forces, the bonds of love and the communing selves, the freedom from gravity, which you and your Cassian will experience when you commune with each other!”

The dance off further down the hanger has stopped. Everyone is watching Chirrut. And Jyn. She buries her face in her hands and groans.

That _chakaar_ has the audacity to smirk–she can hear it in his voice–as he comes to a stop and says, “I shall now seek my own dance partner.” Yeah, and she’s damn sure that’ll be last of him and Baze anyone will see all day.

As he passes her he smacks her on the shin with his staff. “Go. Dance.”

“Go to blazes,” she mutters behind her hand.

Jyn looks up to see Cassian approaching, a puzzled look on his face. Sweat stain the neck and pits of his shirt. Her nostrils flare when she catches a whiff of it.

“What was that about?”

“Chirrut...giving me some advice.”

He cocks his head to one side and it makes a piece of his hair, stuck together with sweat, flop over one eye. “What kind of advice?”

“The stupid kind,” she snaps and suddenly remembers she has to be somewhere else, anywhere else but here.

 

* * *

   


_but you seem to have a plan_  
  


She doesn’t expect him to come over to her, not while she’s got their new contact about to spill the beans on whatever new Kuat Systems Engineering planetary scanner the Imperial fleet have got their hands on. But dammit, she can’t take her eyes off him now that he’s got her attention; that scanty “uniform” Gardulla has her dancers wear leave little to the imagination.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” purrs her Zeltron contact, and Jyn begins to feel a mild buzz. Must be those Zeltron pheromones, even if they aren’t targeted specifically at her.

Cassian, to his credit, seems to resist them quite well, and he sidles over to an adjacent table, though he does make sure to bend over really low as he listens to the request of one of patrons of Gardulla’s nightclub.

Jyn takes her eyes off his ass and looks up, only to find her pink companion’s gaze distracted. “You humans are an interesting bunch, aren’t you?” she murmurs contemplatively.

“Yes,” Jyn finds herself saying rather more aggressively than she expected. “We can be. Back to business?”

Her contact raises an eyebrow, but the talk turns back to information. Cassian moves on to another table and the buzz from the pheromones slowly dissipates. Credits exchange hands, and Jyn soon finds herself in possession of Kuat’s latest innovations–not plans, but at least an overview of what the Empire’s engineers are up to.

Back in the safe house, she makes a copy of the data, transmits one to the ship, transmits one to K2 and transmits a final one of prearranged dead drop in the city. They’ve learned from their first mission, and their Bothan intelligence agents were very insistent on their being multiple backups of all intelligence gathered.

She’s packing up when the door hisses open and Cassian steps in. He has a coat on, but pulls that off to reveal that he’s still wearing the dancer’s uniform underneath: skin-tight pants and a blousy shirt with a deep neckline. There’s still makeup on his face.

“Hey,” she says as he crosses the room and steps into the refresher. “How did it go?”

“We should do this more often,” he tells her as he comes out wiping his face with a damp cloth. “Gardulla’s people are very chatty, especially after a few drinks in them.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Nah, some are harder to crack. But we have to be careful, if they’re this chatty any information we get might not be real.”

She nods. “I’ve sent the backups. You have anything else?”

Cassian grins. “Comm numbers and for more than some ‘fun later’.” He pulls out a commlink from...somewhere. Jyn’s not sure where he would have kept it with that uniform. “Sent the numbers to K2. And I’ll see if we can pry anything else out of it once we’re back at the base.”

“Okay,” she says, settling back onto one of the bunks and pulling out her datapad.

“No, get up,” Cassian tells her.

“What?”

“Sit down over there,” he says, pointing to one of the two chairs in the room. It’s plain light durasteel and not very comfortable, hence her location on the bunk.

“Why?” she asks, a little suspiciously.

Cassian rolls his eyes. “Trust me.”

Putting her datapad down, Jyn gets to her feet and sits down in the chair, crossing her arms. “So what’s going on…” she trails off when he starts to...sway his hips?

“Cassian Andor, are you giving me a lapdance while _on a mission_?”

“Don’t interrupt,” he says as he does a little shimmy. “This is your only chance, I'm burning these pants the moment I get out of them. And I saw you watching.”

“No!” she cries in mock disappointment, making grabby hands towards his butt. “Not the pants!”

He whips off the loose shirt and tosses it at her face. Laughing, she pulls it away. It smells of sweat, alcohol. There is glitter on it, and some of it rains down onto her lap. There is glitter on his chest too.

“Sparkly,” she says, throwing the shirt over her shoulder. She curls a finger towards him.

“Yeah, Gardulla was into that,” Cassian tells her as he does some kind of twirl that ends up with him straddling her lap.

Jyn hooks her fingers into the waist of his pants. “No Hutts, more stripping.”

“Right,” he says straightening up. He runs his hands across his thighs and draws them towards his crotch before slipping his fingers into the waistband and tugging and–

“Jyn?”

“Mmm, yes, go on.”

“I can’t. I need your help.”

“What?”

“They’re too tight. I can’t get them off.”

 

* * *

  
_i'm starting to feel it's right_  
  


Cassian’s hand is on her waist. She’s holding his other in hers. His thumb absently draws concentric circles across the back of her hand. Hip to hip. Two steps back, two forwards. Turn. The common room of his ship is tiny, but they make do with small steps. Music, tinny and soft, pipes out of some ancient speakers.

“You are thinking too hard.”

Jyn sighs. It is past 0400 hours on Hoth and she couldn’t sleep. She’d wrapped herself up as warmly as she could and come down here. Where Cassian of course found her. And now they’re dancing.

There’s no erotic force, no freedom from gravity. Jyn’s pretty sure every word of Chirrut’s long soliloquy on dance was pulled out of his ass (that _chakaar_ ’d better watch it during their next sparring session). But Cassian is warm and solid, his eyes droopy with sleep as he leads her into another turn.

“I want a real bed,” she murmurs. “Sheets, pillows, blankets.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “I’ll put that in the next mission report. Requesting adequate bedding."

She snorts. “You wouldn’t. You like sleeping on durasteel planks.”

“So do you.”

“I do it because I have to, not because I _like_ to.”

“I promise,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Our next mission: a real bed.”

Kriff, this stupid man with his stupid hair and his stupid smile and the stupid way his stupid eyes go _soft_ just like that, when he looks at her and makes her stupid promises. Ugh.

“I should have known. Only you two would be irrational enough to hold your recreational activities when you should be sleeping.”

“K–”

“Go away, Kaytoo.”

“Seriously, K?” Cassian grumbles. “You’ve been lurking there the whole time?”

The droid gets to his feet. “I was powered down, before you two came in and started spewing feelings all over the place. The are prophylactics in the refresher, but Erso’s on the low end of her cycle. Please don’t make a small version of the both of you.”

“Kay!”

“A bed,” she tells Cassian, as the droid clanks out, making a lot more noise than is necessary. “No Kaytoo.”

“No Kaytoo,” he agrees.

  
  
_fin_  


**Author's Note:**

> Random A/Ns
> 
> 1\. Dude with death sticks is Elan Sleazebaggano's kid (the guy Obi-Wan Jedi mind tricks while he's drinking on the job in AOTC). Elan went home, rethought his life, got a decent job, got married, got a kid. (Un)fortunately the influence of Jedi Mind tricks are not inheritable.
> 
> 2\. I have recruited Bodhi to my Ace Pilot Squadron. (Basically he's asexual in this story).
> 
> 3\. Writing dance moves is hard. I don't dance. I cribbed some of Chirrut's lines from www.henryandjacqui.com, which is apparently about English country dancing. Chirrut's dance itself is a weird bastardisation of a waltz, Guardian of the Whills katas and whatever the kriff he felt like doing to troll Jyn/cheer her up.
> 
> 4\. _chakaar_ \- general insult in Mando


End file.
